


nothing that can be

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunkenness, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa knew everything about him. She knew the scar on his leg was from when he fell off his motorbike and skidded a few feet down the road. She knew he had once gotten a concussion from running right into a tree when he was walking and reading at the same time. How he had first kissed a girl when he was sixteen and had written about it in his diary, which she had once read. She knew the songs he listened to when he was sad and the movies that made him cry and how he melted into a puddle of giggling and petting if he saw a dog.</p><p>But she did not know kissing Jon Snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing that can be

**Author's Note:**

> “She lay in the dark and knew everything.”  
> ― Ian McEwan, Atonement

Sansa Stark had had her night mapped out. She had finished her last final that afternoon and as she walked home she swung by her favourite Thai restaurant and picked up and order of Pad Thai and summer rolls all for herself. She had eaten them at the desk in her bedroom, the telly switched on to her favourite channel, a stack of unwatched films awaiting her on her desk. 

She had been looking forward to this day for ages, having spent the last few weeks doing nothing buy studying for Professor Baelish's psychology final and Professor Lannister's history exam. She was more than relieved to be done and had nearly thrown her textbooks out the window of the highest floor in her happiness. 

She had been halfway though her planned night, having watched two of the five movies she had rented from the video store on the corner when she heard a jarring crash. 

Sansa jumped, clicking pause on her remote and freezing Colin Firth in the middle of the scene he was in. She was suddenly gripped with fear. The fact that she was completely alone in the house had excited her a few hours ago but now it made her feel nothing but nervousness. 

Robb and Jeyne were gone for the weekend, having obsessively planned their trip to the country for the last few weeks. Jon was out with Edemure and Theon, most likely drinking twice his body weight in vodka to celebrate the end of finals. 

Hearing nothing for a minute Sansa reconsidered. Perhaps the noise was outside. Perhaps one of the stray cats that lived in the complex had knocked over one of the potted plants that lined their downstairs windowsill. But she knew that was not true. Not when another crash came from directly below her. 

Sansa looked for her telephone but cursed herself, knowing full well she had left it downstairs on the counter in the kitchen when she had been carrying too many plated to try and wrestle it into her grasp. And now she was in an empty house, in her pyjamas, when half the campus had already gone home for winter break. _Oh god_ , she though. _I am in the beginning of a horror film_.

She snuck into Jon's room down the hall, knowing he had a baseball bat hidden under his bed. She got to her knees, shaking as she tried to fish it out, successful only in finding a dirty magazine that she was sure she would tease him about later. But right now she needed to find the bat and defend her life from the murderer/rapist/serial killer she was sure was lurking in the darkness downstairs. 

Her hand brushed against the soft, molded wood and she sighed with relief, holding the bat tightly enough to make her knuckles blanch white. She crept down the stairs, wary of the darkness that closed around her, and she skipped the second stair, knowing it creaked loudly when stepped on. 

The living room was empty and quiet. The whole house was quiet. Sansa was so afraid that she felt like she was going to vomit. 

The noise reappeared, coming from the kitchen this time. Great. The room with all the knives.

Sansa crept forward, reaching the kitchen in silence, catching a glimpse of light and realizing the refrigerator door was propped open. That gave her pause. What kind of murderer/rapist/serial killer stopped to get a bite to eat before they attacked? 

A shadow swooped out of nowhere and Sansa screamed loudly enough to scare herself, swinging the bat as hard as she could. The figure ducked. The bat struck the vase of flowers she had gotten from Margaery's flower shop on Tuesday, glass and petals flinging across the room and hitting the wooden floor with a crash. 

"Bloody hell!" someone shouted. 

Sansa danced backward, flipping the light switch, temporarily blinded by the light that flooded the room. "Jon?" she demanded, breathless. He was crouched down on the floor, shielding his head with his arms. He was also missing a boot. "What are you doing?"

"I just got home." he huffed. Sansa dropped the bat, lying it on the counter and motioning to take a step forward. "No. Stop." he said, slurring. "You'll cut your feet." 

She did as she was told, standing with her hands on her hips. "What was that?" she asked. "You scared me half to death. I thought someone had broken into the house."

"I just got home." he said, grinning widely. His face was flushed red with pleasure and drink. He looked like a very merry Santa Clause. 

Jon stepped closer to her, glass crunching beneath his boots. A wave of pure liquor hit her nose and she waved away the smell, laughing. "You smell like a pub."

"I feel like one." he said, tripping over a large chunk of vase and almost falling. 

She gave him a pitying look, gesturing for him to come closer. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

He nodded, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes sleepily. She wrapped her arms around him, supporting half his weight as he stumbled up the stairs. "Where did you get that bat?" he muttered. 

"Under your bed."

He froze, looking at her in horror. "Did you...see anything?"

"Nope." she said, urging him up the stairs. He let out a sigh of relief. "Just a dirty magazine." added Sansa in a singsong voice. 

Jon looked like he was going to throw up. "That's S-Sam's." he insisted, drunkenly. Sansa tightened her grip around his middle, pulling him up. "He was afraid Gilly might see."

"Aha." He was heavier than she would have thought and she nearly had to drag him up the stairs, his legs barely able to support himself, his knees jiggling like jelly. "Sam's magazine said 'property of Jon Snow?'" He hung his head and didn't say anything else. "I'm only teasing." 

When they reached the top of the stairs Sansa let out a sigh of relief. More than once it had seemed that he would sway backwards and pull them both in a heap down the stairs. But now they were safe, the most trying part of their journey over with. 

"You need a shower." she said, getting another whiff of the drink on his breath and cursing the fact that she had no free hands to pinch her nose. The smell seemed to be coming directly out of his pores at this point. "And soon."

Once she had dragged him into the bathroom he began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, sinking down to sit upon the closed toilet. She turned the shower knob, the water springing out hot enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck rise. But the warmth was a welcomed relief from the snow that fell outside the small bathroom window.

She stood upon the tips of her toes to reach the last of the towels from the top shelf, reminding herself to do the laundry tomorrow, and when she turned back she found Jon still struggling with the button of his shirt.

“Let me help you.” She said, setting the towel down. Somehow Jon had lost his other boot on the journey.

“No.” he half shouted, shocking her. His voice was slurred and muffled, like he was lying facedown on a pillow. “I’m married.”

She laughed, swatting away his hands. “If you’re married and you didn’t tell me I will kill you.”

Sansa’s pale fingers were nimble and made quick work of undoing the buttons of his shirt before she moved to a crouch, reaching for his woolen socks. He jumped and made a strange noise, her fingers cold against his bare skin as she pulled down his socks one by one.

He recovered from his initial discomfort quickly and by the time she had pulled his shirt off he seemed pleased, grinning from ear to ear and muttering dirty jokes she knew for a fact Arya had told him.

"Jon." Sansa laughed, taking his hands and helping him to his feet. His skin was warm as the shower water and callused, his fingers rough from gripping the handle of his motorbike. "Can you undo your belt?”

Jon dissolved into a fit of giggles. "No." he said, waggling his eyebrows bawdily. The heat of the room had made his skin redden as though he had been burned and he bent backwards, stretching, the crack of his shoulder audible in the small room.

“You flirt.” She said, turning to the sink to squeeze an inch of toothpaste onto his blue brush. She had only turned her back to him for a minute before she felt something smack into her and she turned on her heel, finding Jon had slipped on the bathmat as he was trying to remove his belt.

“Sorry!” he shouted. She now remembered that when he got too drunk Jon tended to scream, the nightmare that had plagued him for years of being unable to speak coming back to him when he was too deep into his cups. “I fell!” he said, still gripping the end of his khaki belt.

“Are you okay?" she asked, concerned, dropping to kneel beside him. He was rubbing his head, looking miserable. As she lifted him into a sitting position she saw the back of his shoulder was already bruising, having struck the corner of the sink as he fell. Jon looked like he was going to cry and she embraced him, clucking her tongue.

“I fell.” He muttered. “Again.”

“My poor Jon.” she whispered, tracing circles on the skin of his back. “Wait…again?”

“Edemure bet me…I couldn’t jump…over the statue of Cersei on the green…I couldn’t.” he pointed at his leg, a particularly nasty looking green bruise circling around his ankle.

“It’s okay.” She said. She felt very much like her mother in that moment, stroking her fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Let’s get in the shower and then we can get you into bed.”

Knowing Jon was very particular about his hygiene and would never cogently go to bed without showering and brushing his teeth, she managed to coerce him into it with only a few more minutes of bribery. She finally managed to promise him a plate of shepherd’s pie if he did so and he agreed whole-heartedly, shouting at her that he had only eaten peanuts. Then he broke into another fit of giggles at the similarity of the word ‘peanuts’ to another word.

"Okay." she said, hands akimbo as she looked down at him. He had finally managed to remove his jeans but was still wearing a pair of red and green plaid pants with little candy canes sewn onto them and while they were very Christmas-y it would not do to shower with him still in them.

The heat of the shower had fogged up the mirror to her left but even without looking at it she knew her face was red as a strawberry, the blush beginning to move down her neck to flare across her chest. "Okay. Okay." she repeated, trying to force her up to complete the task laid before her. "Promise you won't tell anyone about this." 

Jon was not listening to her, using his fingers to trace the flowers that decorated the bathroom tile. "Mmm." he hummed in agreement. 

"Okay." Sansa repeated for the last time. She shrugged. It would be like undressing her brother. It would be like she was a doctor and Jon was her patient. It was all perfectly G-rated. 

Sansa’s hands moved down to his waist and he jumped when her cold fingers brushed against his trim stomach. She had already tried very hard to avoid staring, wondering just when Jon had become so muscular. Vaguely she remembered when he had begun his gym membership after Ygritte had broken up with him to shag her history professor.

"Sorry." she muttered. Jon giggled. _I’m not looking_ , she though. Jon was as close to her as her brother. She was not looking. 

In one quick move Sansa pulled down his pants and watched them fall to his ankles, Jon using her shoulder to balance himself as he kicked them off, giggling as a rush of warm air met her flesh.

“Can you shower by yourself?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. The soapy residue of the tub suddenly became very dangerous in Sansa's eyes. 

She helped him into the tub, a spray of water hitting her in the face as he accidently hit the showerhead, turning it towards her as it fell. Sansa bent down to replace it back into its cradle and when she looked up she realized she was face to face with his backside. She was stunned for a moment, her eyes wide as she watched the muscles in his thighs work as he began to wash himself, the soap in his hands slipping more than once.

“Oh.” She said. “Sorry I-“ but she realized he was not listening, turning instead to Sansa’s shower caddy.

“You always smell so nice.” His voice had finally begun to return to its regular decibel and she was thankful, knowing this must mean his drunkenness was slowly ebbing.

He had picked up her lavender and basil soap and had poured some into his hand, running his fingers across his chest. The motion enthralled Sansa, watching as the lavender suds mingled with his dark chest hair, the soap running down his muscular stomach and lower.

Her eyes snapped back up, realizing where they were headed. Jon slipped and nearly fell, causing Sansa to let out a half scream, worried he might break his neck.

 _That’s it_ , she thought. "I'm coming in." she announced, pushing aside the curtain and stepping in. The water was hot, seeping through her pyjama shirt and running down her back, warming her.

She grew uncomfortable quickly as the water soaked through her shirt, the cotton-wool blend seeming far heavier now. Aggravated by the disturbance she pulled the wet shirt over her head and threw it to the floor outside the shower curtain, the wet fabric hitting the tile with a slap. 

Jon had been busy washing his chest but as he turned to face her and realized she was as naked as he, he flushed, his dark eyes widening. "Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?" he asked, his voice beginning to lose its slur.

"Cheeky." Sansa replied, bringing the bottle of shampoo down from its cradle. "Sit down so I can wash your hair." Jon did as he was told. His long legs were spread out, easily cramped in the clawfoot bathtub, and he propped his feet up on the edge of the tub, leaning back into her.

They sat so close that her breasts pressed against his soapy back, Sansa’s legs sliding out on either side of his hips. He absently stroked her foot, thinking how pretty the crimson nail polish she had painted looked against her pale skin.

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed between them. Jon let out a soft moan, pleased by the feeling of her fingers in his hair.

Sansa busied herself with washing his hair, trying to distract herself from the perfect view of his muscular back. Knowing he could not see her Sansa gave up, unable to resist the sight of the muscle and sinew rippling in his back as he leaned forward, dragging the bar of soap across his legs.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with the urge to press a kiss his shoulder, resisting the desire to run her tongue in a circle along the white scar on the back of his neck.

"This feels nice." he said, the first coherent statement since he had returned home. She brought the shower nozzle down to wash the soap from his hair, washing the suds rinse down his skin and into the drain and ignoring the way his skin glistened when wet.

"Here." Sansa said, thrusting a bar of soap into his hands. "Clean yourself _down there_." she said, having pointedly ignored that section of his anatomy since she had pushed down his pants. 

Sansa was surprised how often she had to remind herself that this was Jon. Jon Snow, the boy that had once peed in her pool and skinned his knee after he fell out of Robb's tree house. The boy that had once cried after he had broken one of Catelyn Stark's vases while playing rugby inside the house. The boy that had taken her out for ice cream to try and cheer her up after her date had stood her up at a party.

But now, as she threw a look over his shoulder, she realized her Jon Snow was no longer a boy but a man. A very _big_ man. 

Sansa helped him out of the shower and into her robe, the fuzzy pink fabric brushing against his nose and making him laugh. She wrapped a towel around herself before taking his hand and dragging him to his bedroom.

The shower seemed to have sobered him but not enough and she resolved to take him downstairs and force-feed him a pot of coffee and the shepherd’s pie she had promised. Food and coffee had always done the trick for Robb, who came home stumbling drunk quite often his freshman year when he and Edemure had gone a bit too wild, but if that didn’t do it she would just have to tuck him into bed and leave a rubbish bin at his bedside in case he needed to vomit. She was sure he would be right as rain in the morning, albeit vastly hung-over.

Sansa made to change in her own room but Jon grabbed her hand and pulled her back into the room. "Don't go." he pleaded, his face so sweet it was difficult to say no. 

“I have to get dressed." she said, watching the way his fingers had entwined with hers. She blushed, thinking how natural the act was, and turned away, hoping he either did not notice her blush or was be too drunk to remember in the morning. 

"You can wear this." he said, fishing around in his closet. She didn't have the heart to tell him that his towel had come unhooked from his waist and was now lying on the floor where he had once stood. She bit her bottom lip, watching the way the muscles in his back worked as he reached up to pull a sweatshirt from the top shelf of his closet. "You looked so lovely in my shirt before." 

He was drunk enough to no longer filter his words, she realized. Perhaps drunk enough to speak the truth. The idea made her feel warm on the inside.

"You're drunk." she said but put the shirt on nevertheless, waiting until he turned around to step quickly out of her wet knickers and lie them over the heater in Jon's room.

Sansa was thankful that Jon had sobered enough to face the stairs without her and she busied herself in the kitchen, hoping to distract herself with cooking rather then with the way Jon watched her. If she didn’t no better she would think it was lustful.

She slid the mug of coffee across the counter, watching the steam rise from the cup as he wrapped his hands around it. She watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, a drop of coffee sliding down the corner of his mouth. She raised a hand, using her index finger to wipe the drop away. 

Jon took her hand, turned it so her palm was cupping his cheek. The corner of his lip dragged against her palm and he turned his head, his lips leaving a hot kiss on the center of her palm.

He leaned into her, suddenly very sober and very serious, and when his lips found her wrist she feared she might melt like the sugar she had just poured into his coffee. 

"You're drunk." she repeated, weakly, as his lips moved up her arm to the crook of her elbow. 

His voice was gravelly. "No." His eyes felt hot as fire and searching, dragging across every inch of her face as though he were studying it. "Not anymore." 

He walked around the island that stood in the middle of the kitchen to stand at her side, making him suddenly aware how very much taller he was than her. That knowledge was all the more realized when his head dipped down to reach her, his shoulders hunching. His breath smelled like mint, thanks to her brushing his teeth, and tasted just the same. 

Sansa knew everything about him. She knew the scar on his leg was from when he fell off his motorbike and skidded a few feet down the road. She knew he had once gotten a concussion from running right into a tree when he was walking and reading at the same time. How he had first kissed a girl when he was sixteen and had written about it in his diary, which she had once read. She knew the songs he listened to when he was sad and the movies that made him cry and how he melted into a puddle of giggling and petting if he saw a dog.

But she did not know kissing Jon Snow.

One of his hands was on her lower back, holding her tight, and the other held her own hand. His mouth was deft on her own, sweet tasting and talented. As his chin scratched hers when she kissed him she was glad she had not tempted the fates but shaving him, and his tongue touched hers ever so lightly, ghosting across her bottom lip. He certainly had not written about that in his diary. 

Suddenly he was no longer kissing her and pulled sharply backwards, watching very closely for a reaction. She paused, thinking every moment she was not kissing him was a moment wasted.

"I-" he began. 

In a flash her hands had closed around his neck, pulling his head down once more to her level. This time she did not seem so trepidations and kissed him so fully and so completely that he almost felt his knees buckle. He blamed that on the drink, though the only thing that was clouding his mind at this moment was how lovely Sansa looked in nothing but a sweatshirt. 

She had kissed him before. Once when he was six and she was three and he had fallen from the tree house in her backyard. She had come running, throwing down the sticks she and Robb had been sword fighting with and coming to his aid. She had kissed each of his skinned knees and each of his cheeks and he had stopped crying, feeling suddenly stronger.

The second time he had kissed her. She had just found out her boyfriend was moving away and was sad enough to eat nothing but English toffee and imported American cereal- of which she had drunkenly ordered six cases of the previous night.

Jon had been going out that night, Ygritte awaiting his arrival at a pub downtown, no doubt dressed to the nines, as she often liked to do. But Sansa had seemed so sad, waving goodbye to him from the couch and watching Singin' In The Rain for the third time that day. So he had stayed with her, cuddling close beside her on the couch and letting her drop her head onto his chest when she had grown tired. She had been lovely then, even with puffy eyes and a sniffling nose. Even complaining that she would never find love again.

He had kissed her then, whispering that any man is his right mind would want her. 

Again she had kissed him last December on New Year's Eve when the ball had dropped and the announcer had called out that it was now 2014. He had been fishing around in the cooler for another beer and she had been sneaking a bit of the cake Jeyne had bought for the occasion. But they had been the first people the other saw and their New Years kiss had been chaste and friendly but never forgotten. 

But this kiss blew all the others out of his mind. Jon's mind had gone so completely blank that if she pulled away at that moment and asked him his middle name Jon could not tell her. 

He smelled so nice, she thought. Not just like the soap she had washed him with but with the regular scent that she knew was his. It was never overpowering, but just a friendly reminder of his presence in the house. And now it was on every inch of her, coming through his shirt, his lips, his hands on her back. 

Jon lifted her into his arms and she jumped, feeling the cold tile press against her bare thighs as he sat her upon the marble counter in the kitchen. Her legs closed around his waist, pulling him as close as she possibly could without merging their bodies into one. 

As one of his hands skated down her lower back Sansa found she was shocked by how this did not feel strange, kissing her best friend, feeling his hand move down to cup her ass. From the very first moment he had come into the kitchen there had been a clear shift in the hierarchy of their relationship.

This was no longer Jon Snow, whom she had shared pizzas with and watched movies with and who had driven her to school each morning for four years of secondary school. This was her Jon. Jon who kissed a spot just below her jaw that made her toes curl against the back of his leg. Jon whose hips pressed against hers in just the right way as to ignite her skin. 

Sansa moaned and the sound shot straight to his cock, pressed against the soft pyjama pants he was enveloped in. "I've been so stupid." she whispered. He pulled back sharply, the fantasy that had encompassed them seeming to shatter with the magnitude of his words. "No!" she said, realizing her mistake. She pulled him back by the lapels of his shirt, pressing a feather-light kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Not about this. About not doing this."

He raised a dark eyebrow. His lips were swollen and red from kissing and she looked quite the same, his beard having left her chin scratched pink. He was watching her, his eyes hooded and serious. "I only mean I've been so stupid not to tell you."

"Tell me what, love?" he asked, twirling the ends of her hair around his fingers. He had leaned forward, resting his face in the soft divide between her breasts. If he listened carefully he could hear her heart beating fast. 

"That every time something good or bad happens I can't wait to come home and tell you. I think about you all the time." she blurted, speaking quickly so that she would not lose her courage. His back rippled beneath her hands, the muscle pulled taut by his movements as he sat up. "It sounds so cheesy. Like one of those romantic comedies Arya pretends she doesn't watch. But it's true." she paused, her admonition making her suddenly shy. "Do you think about me?"

His eyes were bright, his lips pulling into a slow, sidelong smile. His lips hovered just above hers, the tickle of his bottom lip brushing ever so lightly against hers.

The downstairs window was open and they could hear the sounds of cheering as the campus fraternities celebrated the start of winter break. The house next door was blasting music, the soft thump of the stereo audible even through several walls.

It was almost as if time was frozen just then. Sansa lying on her back on the marble counter with Jon atop her, a muscular arm dipping down to hook one of her legs over his hip. Her smell was intoxicating, the lavender and basil soap on every inch of her skin, and his, after he had drunkenly doused himself in the stuff.

Not even when one of the noise fraternity brothers knocked over a lamppost and the crash of glass pierced the silence did they break eye contact. Sansa did not even breathe for fear of shattering the fantasy that had so encompassed them.

It was Jon who finally broke the silence, feeling Sansa taut as a bowstring beneath him. "Every day." Whispered he, his voice thick.

Sansa could not help but smile at that and she felt him do the same, his mouth pressing against her cheek before moving upward, tracing her forehead and the tip of her nose before eventually circling back to pay her mouth special attention.

The counter grew quickly uncomfortable, as well as her desperate need to have his lips upon hers again, and she jumped down, her bare feet padding across the wood floors and jumping at their coldness. Perhaps Jon would warm her up.

To ascend the stairs would take too long and Jon took Sansa’s hand, leading her to the guest room down the hall from the kitchen. It was the room Edemure often stayed in when he was sleeping one off after a night at the pub and it was made up for just the occasion, Sansa having the foresight to know that with finals coming, to the Rose pub Edemure would go.

Jon’s mouth let hot, wet kisses down the column of her neck before trailing down her chest, his warm breath making her toes curl. She sat up, crossing her arms and pulling upwards on the sweatshirt, removing it in one swift motion. As soon as she had removed the heavy wool she was struck with a rush of cold air that met her bare skin and made goosebumps rise instantly, her thin shoulder shaking with shivers.  

She felt Jon grin, his tongue tracing the outline of her belly button. He could see her stomach trembling both from cold and desire and reached out a foot, his toes curling against the knob of the heater and hitching it higher.

Perhaps the heater had worked quickly or perhaps Jon truly was warming her because within a few moments the goosebumps disappeared. With the sudden heat and rising exhilaration Jon threw off his shirt, letting it drop in a pile on the other side of the room and Sansa leaned back, glad to have a proper view.

She drank in every detail of him from the curve of his muscular arms to the smattering of dark hair over his chest and each of the ridges of muscle that went down his stomach. She was sure he was flexing his muscles with all his might but in that moment she did not care, watching him like a wolf watches its prey.

Jon’s lips trailed the bone of her hip, his nose running sidelong against her stomach and tickling ever so slightly. With her knickers gone, tossed somewhere in the hallway near the bathroom, there was nothing standing in his way as he got to his knees at the side of the bed, Jon pulling her closer to him.

She couldn’t believe this was Jon. Her Jon. She could not believe that kissing her Jon could be so _good_. Nor could she have imagined how good his mouth felt on her body. Every part of her body.

She gasped and Jon peaked through one of his eyes, finding her hands had turned to fists in the cotton sheets. Her hips hitched, rising against his mouth. She had thought his hot breath had felt good on her neck, she could not imagine how it would feel against her thighs. His tongue moved against her, dragging up and down the length of her. She was soft and sweet, just as he had imagined, and he moved to slip a finger into her when she moaned loud enough to make him jump.

“Jon.” she growled. When he looked up at her he found her cheeks had gone red as apples and her mouth hung agape. “Why are you still wearing pants?”

“Because I’m a fool.” He returned, standing. He was breathless, his chest heaving and offering her the best chance to admire him she had gotten so far. He looked like he belonged on the silver screen or on a runway. With that chest he looked like he should be on the cover of one of the romance novels she had hidden beneath her mattress as a teenager.

Jon flushed at the feeling of his hips against hers and he uttered her name with a groan. He was desperate for her. To think he was such a fool as not to tell her how he felt, the years dragging by with each of them dating others that they had never felt the same connection that Jon and Sansa had felt with each other.

And now she was looking up at him, pale and soft and with her eyes sparkling like she was made of glittering jewels and he was foolish to even try and resist.

Jon wanted to ask if she was sure. He wanted to ask if she knew that this would change their relationship. Make them unable to return to the ease and comfort of their relationship. But he was afraid to hear her answer. Even worse he was afraid to tell her his answer. He was sure he wanted to kiss her, wanted to make love to her until he was too tired to see straight and then he wanted to fall asleep in her arms. After that he wanted to awaken at her side, make her breakfast, cooking the eggs just how she liked them- sunny side up, just a bit runny, and then he wanted to tell her that he loved her and that he wanted to marry her and that he was a knob head for not realizing sooner.

“Jon.” she said. Sansa sat forward, cupping his cheek with her hand, just as she had done in the kitchen. But that seemed like a lifetime ago now. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” He whispered, kissing her brow. “Always you.”

Sansa smiled and kissed him and he was as weak as watered down beer in her arms. “I want you, Jon.” she murmured, her voice sweet as a song. “I want you.” She looked suddenly bold, the set of her jaw showing she was determined. “Inside me.” she finished.

Every inch of blood in his body rushed to his cock.

Sansa gasped when he first pushed into her. It was not from pain, as Jon thought and nearly pulled away, but from pleasure. The same pleasure he had felt when he found her wet and aching for him, her hips rising to meet his. He groaned lowly and it was nearly a growl.

Jon buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips reaching the spot just below her jaw that made her wild. With one arm he held his own weight, unwilling to crush the love of his life beneath his body when they were just first making love, and with the other he brushed a strand of hair away from her brow after she had grown frustrated while trying to blow it away.

One of her legs hooked over his hip, hitching herself upwards and making it easy to match the pace he had set. At first it was delicious torment, Jon painfully slow as he moved in and out of her. She huffed, realizing he was teasing her and arched her bank, eliciting a loud moan from him in response.

Sansa’s intention had been to make him suffer but the outcome only made her desire for him grow, the moan that came from his lips at her actions so sweet she could have made it her ringtone.

Jon fared no better. Sansa had raised herself into a sitting position, her legs wrapping around his hips, her feet crossed at the ankle, and she moved as gracefully as a dancer, her actions perfectly timed and perfectly enacted. His arms constricted around her, the tightness adding significantly to the pleasure.

It did not take much longer for Jon to feel Sansa shudder as she reached her peak, the orgasm that rippled through her only adding to his. Sansa gasped, her eyes pressed close and her mouth moving against his, the moans she might have uttered swallowed by Jon.

He collapsed onto the bed beside her and she turned her head to face him, her eyes drooping with fatigue. She smiled, her hand reaching out to take Jon’s, his callused fingers entwining with hers. She shivered again and with the last ounce of his energy he bent forward to fling the blanket over their bodies, Sansa moving to lay her head upon his chest.

 _I love you_ , he almost said. He could feel the words pressing against his mouth, threatening to blurt out. _I want you, forever_. But instead he only slept, all the while not knowing that, curled against his chest, Sansa thought the same thing.

The morning dawned cold and bright and quiet, more than half the campus having piled into their cars and busses to begin the journey home for winter break. Upstairs Sansa had her bags half packed, having been interrupted while she was doing so when she had flipped through the channels on the telly and caught the charming grin of Colin Firth.

In the middle of the night Sansa had risen to fetch another blanket, having awoken from the pure cold of the air around them. Standing at the door, naked as on the day of her birth, the blanket from the coat closet wrapped around her shoulders she had allowed herself to steal a glance at her love.

Jon slept soundly, not even stirring when she had risen. His arm had fallen to the side of the bed where she had once lay and his fingers flayed out in search of her. His cheek twitched in dream and she smiled, padding across the icy floor to join him in the warmth of the guest bed.

She awoke easily, her eyes blinded momentarily by the sun that steamed in through the thin curtains of the bedroom. Jon was still asleep, his eyes moving in dream and she knew she would not interrupt him, lying still for a moment as she pondered what to cook them for breakfast. A full bake, she thought, knowing Jon would be nursing a wicked hangover after his trip to the bar the night before. And after their… _amorous_ activities of the night she knew the headache would be no better.

She had just lifted her head, just began to feel the sleep leave her eyes when she turned to the door and found it open. Arya Stark stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo and her eyes glued to them. Edemure Tully stood at her side, his face grey and his eyes red as tomatoes. It was as if they were frozen in time.

Silently Sansa nudged Jon awake and he stirred easily, lifting his head groggily. “Good morning, my darling.” He said, his voice thick with sleep. He had yet to open his eyes. “In my dreams I kissed your sweet, wet-“ Sansa elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to startle him into opening his eyes. He followed her gaze and he too became frozen.

Arya looked triumphant, her hands on her hips and her mouth turned sideways in a smile. When she spoke it seemed to break their trance. “Well it’s about bloody time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title, beginning note, and Jon's last words all taken from Ian McEwan's Atonement. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it :)


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